THE HUNDRED-AND-FIFTH PAGE

During the holidays, when authors and agents quit sending parcels, I also stopped my mailings and contemplated my masterstroke, which would be worth My Editor’s waiting for. Since Conrad and his secret agent had failed me, it was necessary to conduct my Unabomber researches as discussed on page 89.

It was amazing how helpful the internet was in my researches. Perhaps this was the proper repository for “how to” information, so the beloved book of paper pages could be reserved for fiction, the soul of civilization’s records. Of course, there was sound advice to be found in some of the books picked up on the road; the difficulty was finding a way of modifying the devices. I had no desire to seriously maim or mutilate My Editor. That is not my way; I’m generally squeamish. A nice scorch to the fingertips and a singe to his much too abundant hair would do nicely. He could do without the use of his fingers until the burns healed; he’d still find a way of stuffing his mouth. And think of the money he could save by not paying his hairdresser while his hair grew out. I wasn’t worried about his eyes because he always wore sunglasses in the office. He was that kind of little sneak, who was always hiding behind something.